Flashback — University Years
The kitchen window had been left open after dinner.
From the courtyard came the sound of a television playing and the clatter of cutlery from someone eating later than they were. Aurora had rolled up her sleeves and plunged her hands into the lukewarm water.
Leon stood beside her with a dish towel.
Usually, whoever cooked left the kitchen to the other person. That evening, Aurora had started washing up while Leon was still eating, and when she reached for his plate, he hadn't given it to her.
"I'll finish."
"My hands are already in the water."
Leon had looked at the sink. Then he had picked up the dish towel.
Now he was waiting for the glass Aurora was still rinsing.
"It's clean."
Aurora turned off the faucet and handed it to him.
She had spent the afternoon in the editing lab. Her short film was four minutes and twenty-seven seconds long: twenty-seven seconds over the limit for the assignment.
She had cut a scene, put it back in, then cut it again. In the end, she had realized that the problem wasn't the scene itself, but everything she had added to explain it.
"Anyway, the professor wants to show it to the other group too."
She had already told him over dinner. The words slipped out as she ran the sponge over the bottom of the pot.
Leon put the glass away in the cabinet.
"I heard you."
"I know. It's just that I didn't think…"
Aurora stopped and smiled down at the sink.
For weeks, she had worked with the feeling that she wasn't good enough. Four minutes had seemed like almost nothing, until she had to fill them with choices.
"He wants to show it," she repeated quietly.
When she turned to hand him the pot, Leon was looking at her.
Aurora lowered her hands. A few drops fell onto the floor.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Do I have something on my face?"
"No."
She brushed the back of her wrist across her cheek. Leon followed the movement with his eyes.
"Then why are you looking at me?"
"I like it."
Aurora stood there with the pot in her hands.
In the courtyard, someone called out to a child. The television in the neighboring apartment changed programs.
"What?"
Leon finally took the pot from her.
"Watching you when you're happy."
He set it on the counter without drying it right away.
Aurora searched for something to say. She could have smiled, asked him how long he had felt that way. Instead, she looked at the water pooling beneath the pot and thought it was getting the wood wet.
The thought gave her something to breathe through.
Several weeks had passed since the visit to Leon's grandmother.
After that night, Aurora had stopped seeking him out for a few days. She had respected the closed door, had dinner with her friends, studied at the library even when she would have preferred to go home.
Following him had been wrong.
But hearing herself described as no one had hurt.
When they had started talking again, Aurora had tried not to turn every answer into a sign. Then Leon had left a film festival program on the table. Three days, free admission for students.
Two directors she had told him about were on the program.
"I saw it on campus," Leon had said.
Aurora had picked up the flyer.
"Thanks."
She hadn't asked him to go with her.
That time, Leon had been the one to ask which day she preferred.
Now they were standing in the kitchen, and he had just told her that he liked watching her.
Aurora turned back to the sink.
"You could warn me before you say things like that."
Leon picked up a plate from the drying rack.
"How?"
Aurora opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then she laughed, because she didn't have a sensible answer.
Leon watched her for another moment before going back to drying the dishes.
Aurora washed the last fork with entirely unnecessary care.
---
The next day, Aurora tried to tell a friend about it during the break.
"He said something to me."
Her friend closed her pencil case.
"Your roommate?"
Aurora nodded.
"Something nice, or something that makes you want to move out?"
"Nice."
The smile appeared before she could stop it.
"I think."
"You think?"
Aurora looked down at her notebook.
Repeating the words would turn them into something to discuss. Her friend would ask questions, look for intentions, suggest answers.
Aurora had already been doing that herself for hours.
She didn't want to add another voice.
"Never mind. I'll tell you later."
She opened her notebook to the wrong page.
For the rest of the morning, she took notes with almost obsessive precision. She didn't turn around to look toward the back of the classroom. When the professor asked her a question, she answered correctly and felt an almost insulting sense of relief.
She could still think about other things.
Then Leon found her by the vending machines.
"Have you eaten?"
Aurora held up the packet of crackers she had just bought.
Leon looked at it.
"I have an hour before the lab," Aurora added.
"So do I."
He waited while she collected her change from the machine.
They went out together and bought two sandwiches at the café across the courtyard. They found a table outside, near the street. Aurora sat on the sunny side, and after a few minutes she had to move her chair just to be able to see.
Leon stood up.
"Let's switch."
"You don't have to."
He was already moving to the other side.
Aurora picked up her tray and changed seats.
As they ate, she realized she wasn't searching for a question to keep him there. She told him about the lab, about a classmate who had recorded an interview without any audio, about the professor who demanded punctuality and then was always late himself.
Leon listened. Every now and then, he asked something.
When Aurora asked what he was working on, he told her about a writing assignment he couldn't finish.
"You?"
Leon looked up.
"What?"
"You can't finish something?"
"It happens."
Aurora smiled into her glass.
"That information helps me a lot."
"With what?"
"Putting up with you."
Leon looked at her and went back to his sandwich.
They stayed until Aurora was the one who checked the time.
"I have to go."
Leon stood up with her.
As they crossed the courtyard, they ran into two girls from her course. One of them greeted Aurora, looked at Leon, and walked on with an obvious smile.
Aurora didn't find it annoying.
It made her wonder what she would say if someone asked her who he was.
---
Four days later, Aurora was sitting on the living room floor.
She had taken over the coffee table with photographs, an outline, and two drawings that were supposed to represent the shots for her next project.
Leon was reading on the couch.
At one point, he picked up one of the sheets.
"Is this a person?"
Aurora looked up.
"It's obviously a person."
"It only has one arm."
"The other one is behind them."
Leon looked more closely.
Aurora took the sheet out of his hands.
"You can tell what it's supposed to be."
He went back to his book.
Aurora placed the drawing on top of the outline but didn't go back to work.
The night before, they had gone out to buy bread and ended up walking for almost an hour. That afternoon, Leon had sent her the title of a movie. Aurora had bought the tea he liked, only realizing at the register that she had done it without thinking.
They kept choosing to spend time together.
Then each of them would return to their own room, and Aurora would be left searching for a meaning that something the next day could easily contradict.
She got up from the floor and sat on the edge of the couch.
Leon kept his thumb between the pages.
"What is it?"
Aurora looked at the book.
"I don't want to keep guessing."
Leon waited.
She ran a hand over her knee.
"Whether you like spending time with me."
"Yes."
The answer made her lose the rest of the sentence.
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"I mean…"
Leon closed the book.
Now he was really looking at her, and Aurora almost wished he had kept reading.
"Not just going out for lunch," she finished.
Leon set the book on the coffee table.
Aurora took a breath.
She had already started. Backing out now would mean spending weeks pretending this conversation had never happened.
"I like you."
Leon stayed still.
Aurora could hear her heartbeat in her ears.
"And I don't want to have to decide by myself every time whether something means something or not."
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the cushion.
"If you don't feel the same way, tell me."
Leon lowered his eyes to her hand.
"That's not it."
Aurora waited.
"I don't know how to do this."
The words took some of the fear away.
They weren't reassuring. They didn't promise anything. But they sounded nothing like any of the answers she had prepared herself to hear.
"I don't know how to do this with you either."
Leon looked up.
A nervous smile escaped Aurora.
"With you especially."
Her hand left the cushion and rested between them.
Leon looked at it.
Then he placed his fingers over hers.
Aurora inhaled and realized she had stopped breathing regularly.
Leon's hand was warm. When his fingers closed around hers, she leaned into him without deciding to.
"Does this mean yes?" she asked.
Leon looked at her.
"Yes."
He moved closer after saying it.
Aurora had enough time to look at his mouth, wonder whether she was supposed to move too, and then do it at exactly the wrong moment.
Her nose bumped into his.
She immediately pulled back.
"Sorry."
Leon didn't let go of her hand.
He looked at her, close enough to make it difficult for her to hold his gaze.
"Can I?"
Aurora nodded.
The kiss was brief. She felt as though she only truly registered it once Leon pulled away.
Her eyes stayed closed for another moment.
Then she opened them.
Leon was still there.
He hadn't picked up his book. He hadn't gotten up. He was still holding her hand.
Aurora smiled and brought the fingers of her free hand toward her lips without touching them.
"Okay."
Leon tilted his head slightly.
"Okay what?"
She shook her head.
She didn't want to explain how difficult it had been to get to that point. Not that night.
Aurora was the one who moved closer the second time.
She placed a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Leon turned toward her, his free hand settling on her waist, and this time the kiss lasted long enough for her to forget about the papers scattered across the coffee table.
When they pulled apart, Aurora stayed close.
She still didn't know if she was allowed to.
Leon brushed his thumb over the back of her hand.
She was.
Aurora looked at the outline, then at him.
"Now I'm not going to be able to work anymore."
Leon followed her gaze.
"It's due tomorrow."
She laughed and gave his shoulder a light shove.
"I know."
Leon gave the hint of a smile.
He shifted over, making room for her beside him, and picked up the sheet she had taken away from him.
Aurora leaned back against the couch. Her shoulder touched his.
For a few minutes, they stayed like that, looking at the same drawing.
Then Leon pointed to one spot.
"You can't tell where they come in from here."
Aurora picked up the pencil.
"The door."
"Which one?"
She sighed and started drawing it.
They worked until late.
Every now and then, Aurora had to read the same line twice.
But they finished.
---
Present Day — Production Offices
"Aurora?"
Mia's voice came from the hallway.
Aurora looked up.
The casting sheets were spread out in front of her. The monitor was still displaying the request she had sent to Thomas. At the far end of the office, someone was trying to clear a paper jam from the printer.
Mia stopped beside her desk.
"Rachel found a scene for the chemistry tests. I want you to read it before we send it out."
Aurora took the pages.
Two people sitting on the floor.
Work that still needed to be finished.
A book left on the coffee table.
She skimmed the dialogue without immediately being able to focus on it.
On the page, the first kiss took up only a few lines.
There was no bumping noses, no fear before the question, no trace of the way Leon had kept holding her hand afterward.
Aurora set the pages down.
"I wouldn't use the whole thing."
Mia pulled a chair closer.
"Where do you want to stop?"
Aurora went back to the beginning.
She followed the dialogue to the point where the girl stopped looking for an excuse to stay and asked her question.
She pointed to the line.
"Here. Before they touch."
Mia read it.
"You want to leave the answer out of the scene?"
"I want to see if they can make us wait for that answer."
Her friend picked up the pen and marked the spot.
"It works."
Aurora reread the passage.
The girl was afraid. She could still get up, gather her papers, pretend it had been a casual question.
Instead, she stayed.
"Let's send it like this," she said.
Mia picked up her copy and walked away.
Aurora remained with the text in front of her.
For years, she had gone back over the ending, searching for the moment when she should have understood. She had reconstructed answers, absences, small changes.
She had grown used to remembering mostly the man who had walked away.
That afternoon, she had also remembered the boy who had put down his book.
Before kissing her, Leon had said yes.
Aurora lowered her eyes to her hand, resting beside the page.
Then she picked up her pen and added a direction for the actors.
They don't know the other person's answer yet.
She read it again.
She remembered that fear well.
She also remembered that once, it had been worth facing.